


But Then I Heard Your Voice

by RosexKnight



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosexKnight/pseuds/RosexKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle was a doughnut dolly. Gold was the WWII soldier she might have saved the life of. They meet again after he might have hunted her down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Then I Heard Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

> (( I have no idea where this came from, really. The show presented us with the line “But then I heard your voice…” and my brain went crazy so here you go! Just a oneshot for now because I have NO idea where I’ll go with it. Enjoy~ ))

V-Day. It had been a great day for all. Parties. Cheering. Even in the small town of Storybrooke, the vibrations of happiness didn't actually stop until weeks after the soldiers came home. And then, life simply went on, and no one really talked of the boys that didn't come home or complain about the lack of fireworks on the fourth that year. Things were just...accepted. Which was good, because Belle French didn't want to think too hard about it.

She'd left Storybrooke too, but only for a short time. She'd felt helpless there, with only the supply drives to help with. And so she’d left, and joined the Red Cross to help the soldiers overseas, the ones on leave, the ones in POW camps, and the wounded soldiers that were too hurt to stay overseas. They called them “Donut Dollies” and Belle wore the nickname with pride. She’d once said she wanted to travel, and she did get to. She may not have gotten to cross the ocean, but she did tend to travel wherever she was needed. Wherever someone needed a hand to be held. That’s what she liked best about it. The way the soldier’s tired faces always lit up when they saw something as simple as a doughnut and some lemonade.

Still, she’d also seen alot. Sometimes too much she feared. The hospitals might have been her favorite place to visit, but they were also the worst. Soldiers blinded, missing limbs, and some even in comas. Sometimes, it was all too much.

Being home was a relief. Storybrooke. Flowers. That was easy She’d seen too much heartache and to many bloodied uniforms. Luckily, the Storybrooke soldiers seemed to agree with her, and the town was bonded in a way it never had been before. Even Gaston, a young man who’d boasted about being the first to volunteer for the Army and swore up and down he’d return a hero seemed to stare into the distance every now and then, just like the rest of them. Belle helped when she could, giving families tips about how to deal with PTSD and the loss of so many. But she still hated to think about it all.

It was two months later when she had an unexpected knock at her door. It was a quiet day, one she’d decided to take full advantage of when she curled up on her chair with a good book. What surprised her even more was who was at the door when she opened it. He was wearing a uniform, one she recognized to belong to enlisted men of the army. His emblem showed he was a Private First-Class, but Belle thought perhaps he looked a tad old for that rank. Oh but he looked familiar, and she ranked her brain trying to place his face.

“Hello.” He said, removing his hat with his free hand, the other being used to lean heavily on a cane.

“Hello.: She said pleasantly. “Is there anything I can do for you, Private…” She looked to the dogtag hanging around his neck. “Gold?”

“Forgive me.” He said quickly, as if his being there was a nieusance. “But are you Belle French? You worked with the Red Cross right?”

“Yes.” Belle said, opening the door a bit wider. She knew all of the soldiers in Storybrooke, but couldn’t place the face of this one at all. “Have we met?”

“Yes. Well no not-- You held my hand.”

Belle blinked at him. He said it as if it were supposed to explain everything. She’d held the hands of countless soldiers, both younger and older than this Private Gold. But he did stand out to her. Perhaps he was one of the ones with the interesting stories. She did love the stories they told, even if it not all ended well.

“Sorry that doesn’t explain anything does it?” He shifted his weight from one foot to another, raking his hands through his hair. “I was...I wanted to thank you.”

This did stand out to her. “Thank me?”

Gold nodded. “I was in a coma. That’s what they told me. I shouldn’t have lived, they said. I don’t remember much after the explosion. Just hurt and...But then I heard your voice. I was terrified but somehow you…” He’d been talking with his hands, his Scottish accent growing thicker with every word, but then his hand dropped, and he got the look in his eye that so many of them did. It seemed to pass and when he looked back to her his eyes were clearer “I just wanted to thank you.”

The memories came flooding back to Belle. She’d been in the seventh hospital that day. They’d warned them that these soldiers were hit the hardest. Were in the worst shape. She had no idea what had made her gravitate to a poor soul that was comatose of all things but she had. Belle had sat herself right by his bed, taken his hand, and started talking. He didn’t answer, of course, but the brief history from his clipboard showed he had a wife and young son. She’d stuck to them. Talked about them. Talked about the book she was reading. Anything and everything and it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I remember you.” Belle said with a smile, and the soldier’s face lit up with hope she hadn’t seen in awhile. Safe topics. That’s what he needed. “You have a son, right? And a wife? How are they?”

All at once, his face fell, and he was practically stumbling back, muttering a “Thank you, Good evening Miss French.” before practically running from her doorway.

Clearly, this topic was anything but safe.

“Wait!” She found herself calling, stepping out of her door to catch up to him. With his limp it hadn’t taken her long.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and he flinched, and she immediately took it away. How was she supposed to react to any of this, really? This Private Gold, a total stranger, had practically told her she’d saved his life. And with one question she’d sent him running away. His hands were trembling, so she swallowed, keeping her voice gentle, hands clasped at her front, where he could see them.

“I’m sorry.” She said finally. “I’m about to make some tea...would you like some?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he turned to her, nodding. She smiled, turning to lead him into her appartment. It took her a moment to realize he hadn’t followed, and she turned back to him.

“Aren’t you coming?” She asked.

He blinked, the last of the faraway mist clearing from his eyes. “Y-yes.”

And that was how Belle French, the Doughnut Dolly that had seen too much led Private Gold, the man she’d saved the life of into her home, put the kettle on, and forgot all about it from talking about nothing with for hours on end. This time, with him answering and talking back, even squeezing her hand every now and then when she found herself holding it out of nothing but habit. All as if it were the most natural thing in the world.


End file.
